Burning to Ashes
by Eternity-is-Chaos
Summary: <html><head></head>She was his godson's best friend...but by god, she was beautiful, exquisite, intelligent...and hopelessly beyond his reach. His inferno.</html>


AU: This is a one-shot, enjoy. Please R and R!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, sadly.

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><p>Burning to Ashes<p>

She was his godson's best friend...but by god, she was beautiful, exquisite, intelligent...and hopelessly beyond his reach. He watched as the crackling flames reflected golden off her hair, curls pulled haphazardly into a messy bun that fell to the side of her neck, obscuring it from his sight. She smiled, and with her eyes tracing the last lines, lifted her right hand – always her right hand – to turn the page. Against the silence, the fire crackled defiantly.

Then, a voice called her from one of the lower floors. His godson's friend, the Weasley boy. He could kill the boy for disturbing her in her peace.

Hermione sighed, and placed a scrap of paper between the pages, closing the book carefully, almost reverently, with both hands - beautiful, small hands, perfect even to the scar that shone silver on her right thumb. The book was placed on the coffee table, presumably for later reading, and she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Once the door was closed, Sirius stepped from the shadows to the chair. Hermione had been reading her way through his library since the day she arrived, over a month ago. He had warned her about the books on dark magic, but when he gave the carte blanche for her to read everything and anything she wanted otherwise, she had smiled so brightly, he had felt his heart stop momentarily, a shiver of pleasure all the way to his toes, and thought that it was worth being trapped in the house all summer, just to see her happiness at that moment.

"And I thought you could sink no lower," a voice sneered from the shadows across the room, cutting the memory short. Snape stepped into the glow cast by the fire, "lusting after schoolgirls, Black?"

Sirius said nothing, just continued to watch the flames.

Snape continued, "And what do you imagine Potter would say to that?" he asked mock-thoughtfully, "or has Saint Potter given you his blessing? Dare I ask Weasley what he thinks?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry? I didn't catch that." the spy sneered.

Sirius tried to push the anger down. It would not help him if Snape told Harry, when he arrived, or Ron, who would inevitably alert everyone else. It would make him even more of a pariah in this miserable place. "Please, don't tell Harry, or anyone else." he sighed, turned to look at Snape. "I am sorry for what I did to you, if there was something that would put the past behind us, I would do it. But please," his shoulders slumped, "there is nothing I can do that will stop you, if you want to tell Harry or the Weasleys."

Sirius turned away, facing the fire again. The door opened and closed again, leaving him in the company of crackling flames.

The following evening, dinner was just about ready. Everyone had been roped into helping set up, though members of the Order were standing to the side, discussing the meeting.

"Sirius, would you get Hermione for supper? She must be in the library again." Molly said affectionately, already turning to direct her sons to set the table.

Sirius nodded, and tried not to look too happy.

She was not in the library. A book lay on the table, as always, but no one was there, save for the shadows. Shadows, created by the fire, that danced teasingly, tauntingly around him.

When he arrived back in the kitchen, everyone was seated, and even Snape had been forced into a place by Molly, for once.

"She's not upstairs." Sirius reported dully, sliding into his spot – next to Snape.

"Well well well, where _could_ she be, Black? Not your room, I hope." Snape whispered, black eyes smirking at Sirius.

"Of course n-"

"Sorry everyone, I fell asleep for a couple minutes." Hermione rushed into the kitchen, panting as she took her spot.

Her hair was out of place, her face flushed, eyes bright, and – Sirius frowned – her fingers were trembling slightly as she picked up her napkin. She looked fresh, stunning as always, and...triumphant? Beside him, Snape set his serviette on his lap as well, and dinner was served.

Weeks passed, and though Snape continued to attend Order meetings, nothing changed. So he continued to watch Hermione. At one point, he passed the twins, who were teasing Ron about liking Hermione. _He will never be good enough for her._ Sirius thought angrily. _He isn't smart enough to keep up with her, he's too selfish to think of her, and too young to understand her. _Someone older would be better for her, for his Hermione.

Some evenings, Sirius would walk into the library and he and Hermione would talk about a book, a subject she had just read about. One night, after being interrogated about animigi, he transformed in Padfoot and trotted over to her. She giggled as he sprawled gracelessly at her feet, patted him on the head, and continued to read. Thus, Monday evenings were spent in peace, and he counted himself lucky to be at her feet. He had never been so content in this house, and never so grateful that Padfoot existed.

When Harry arrived, Sirius tensed once again, but Snape didn't appear to say a word to him, or anyone else. Hermione was spending more time closeted up with Harry and Ron, and occasionally the other Weasley children, however there was obviously nothing more than platonic affection between the two, so Sirius had no concerns there. And Harry was too angry and preoccupied about his trial to observe Sirius, to his relief. At some point, Sirius felt guilt, thinking this way about his godson and the Weasley boy, but then Hermione ran down the stairs, flashed him a smile, and raced into the library, almost aglow with happiness about something. He felt no more guilt.

The trial passed, and Sirius was content, until he overheard the trio cleaning out the cupboards.

"...Sirius knows it!" Hermione was saying, "...he's being selfish."

Sirius' heart sank.

There were no more debates in the library for the remainder of the summer, and Hermione seemed to vanish at times, reappearing later claiming to have been in her room, though Sirius knew she hadn't been there. He retreated to his own room, where he mourned the extent of the misunderstanding. He wished that _she_ would stay. He wished that Harry would understand. He looked at a photograph that had been left on the table weeks ago, of Hermione at the Yule Ball. She was smiling, but at someone across the room, outside of the picture. He had often wondered who was beyond the frame, who had captured her attention. Krum, her date, was in the crowd behind her. Harry and Ron were sitting down in the left corner. The Weasley twins and everyone else he could think of were behind her, unimportant. Who had captured her gaze? The joy, _passion_ in her eyes, how her body was angled towards the mystery person, hands beginning to reach for them, invitingly. A lone tendril of hair had escaped the elegant bun, teasing her neck. Sirius felt hatred, for a boy, a man, maybe a girl he might never know. She was _his_ Hermione, _his_ inferno. How could he defeat an invisible enemy? Yet he found no answers.

Then, the summer was over. She was gone back to Hogwarts.

Sirius glanced at Hermione as often as he could. He had never seen Hermione from this angle, from the fire itself. She was even more stunning, her features highlighted by fire. His heart beat faster as she reproached him. Why hadn't he talked to her more during the summer? And how had he been reduced to not only pining for a girl twenty years his junior, but to practically _sighing_ when she railed at him for stuff he had done years ago? He was her elder, for Merlin's sake! But her voice was like honey, even when she was angry. Her eyes flashed in the jumping light, and her hair was coming undone from its typical bun. She was, in a word, magnificent. She had stopped talking. Harry started to say something, when Sirius felt some external interference on the fire. Did someone know he was here? He said something quickly, and with one last, lingering glance at Hermione, who was now worried – was she concerned for him? – he felt something brush his head. His eyes widened, and he quickly withdrew from the fireplace. Hermione's passionately angry, flashing eyes still burned him.

Snape entered the kitchen. Albus had sent him to tell Harry something, but Sirius wanted to be there – he wanted to see what this was all about.

"Black."

"Snape."

The Potions master sat down, looking at Sirius, considering.

"This has gone on long enough." Snape said abruptly. Sirius looked up, surprised. What was he talking about?

"You said you would do whatever necessary to pay for your mistake. I have my conditions."

Sirius hesitated, but eventually nodded.

"You will protect Potter no matter what?" Snape asked shortly.

Though he was surprised, he nodded again. "He is like my own son."

Snape's lip curled "Unfortunately he nearly is. Then, you will put an end to this _obsession_ with Miss Granger. Has it occurred to you that if Potter finds out, with his typical nosy attitude, it could ruin both his focus and trust in you? As much as I hate to say this, Potter needs to trust an" he sneered "adult, and that happens to be you, at the moment. You will do this, and I will consider putting aside ou – the past."

Sirius blinked. Of course, Snape was right. And, if Sirius was thinking properly, Snape was asking nothing unreasonable of him; he had simply affirmed that Sirius would protect Harry – which he would do regardless. He didn't have a chance with Hermione, and Snape knew this, yet wasn't rubbing it in his face. It seemed completely out of character.

"Hurry up, Mutt, Saint Potter is about to arrive." Snape sneered.

Sirius was about to snap back a reply, but Harry was coming down the stairs.

"I accept."

After congratulating Arthur on his recovery, Sirius went to look for Harry. Snape was right again, that his godson needed to trust people around him – namely members of the Order – more.

Hearing Hermione's voice in the library, Sirius decided to take a detour. What harm would it do? He could stop loving her just as soon as he could stop using magic, stop breathing, but he could be more discrete. He had taken no vow – again, out of character for Snape, but he was asking no questions – what was to stop him from being in the same room as her? From talking to her, from watching her, from desiring her? He halted for a second, almost falling over in surprise. Wasn't that Snape's voice as well? Perhaps she had some question about Potions. He began to open the door. Maybe he could just go in, get a book, and -

Sirius stopped on the threshold. The fire burned, casting light and shadows on the floor. Sirius closed the door silently, turned around, and walked away.

Sirius raced through the Department of Mysteries, trying to find the six children – there was a thud somewhere ahead of him. His heart nearly stopped, Hermione was somewhere in this mess. He needed to find her.

He spotted her ahead of him, motionless on the floor. He threw himself at her side, cradled her head in his lap. Two fingers to her throat – he couldn't find it. Frantic, he grabbed at her wrist, eyes blurring in frustration and fear – there. Faint, but alive. Sirius nearly sobbed in relief, but remembered himself to cast a diagnostic. It didn't even occur to him that he could have checked her pulse using magic. The physical sign of life was far more comforting, more real, than magic could ever be.

There was something wrong with her torso and abdomen. Sirius frowned, and focused his absolute concentration on the dark magic, a red glow due to the diagnostic spell, that quickly spread through her body, like a burning poison. It did not react in any way to the next four healing spells Sirius cast, and he was quickly becoming frantic again. Then, paused. _Calm_. A deep breath in, and out. Losing focus would only hurt Hermione. He thought back to his childhood lessons at Grimmauld Place, watching as his parents performed dark magic for he and his brother. Regulus. Regulus and his friend Dolohov had particularly enjoyed them...Dolohov! Sirius looked at the red mass that had spread almost to her legs and left arm. Dolohov had always enjoyed that curse, hadn't he. And no healer in their right mind would recognize it or cure it. Sirius looked at Hermione. Yes, he would do anything for her. Anything to keep her alive and happy, and healthy, if he could manage it. It was a dangerous cure, especially for him. If anything went wrong, the magic could lash out and kill him. But there was no other option.

The curse could only be cast by a pureblood, and had to be healed by a pureblood. Cast in sadistic pleasure, healed with love. A typical Dark curse. Textbook, really. The incantation would cause the curse to be transferred to another vessel, the original caster's wand. Dolohov's wand was here, thank Merlin. Sirius began the incantation, drawing runes above the wounded area. Unlike most spells, the charm was not in Latin, but a more archaic and harsh language, which had been forgotten to all but the Dark.

"_Hzec fûrst tracht imhet,_

_Hzaic tracht temabalst maltö..._"

It was very heavy magic, a higher level Dark spell, that wreaked havoc on his balance and grasp of magic. The most difficult part of the charm was to keep tight reign on his output. Too little magic would kill Hermione. Too much would kill both of them. Sweat beaded his brow and his hands began to shake as he approached the final line, "_Blantz fûrca trachtsem ikzhem_." And at this, he snapped Dolohov's wand across his knee. It was in two pieces for but a second before it shattered, then became ash. It was over.

After his magic finally stabilized, he felt light-headed, but cast another diagnostic. He sighed in relief. She was out of danger. She would heal, be safe. Snape could, and would heal her completely when she got back to the school, but she was out of danger now. He repeated the mantra again and again. She would live to love who she chose, though that man would never be him. Sirius smoothed her hair down, placed her wand in her hand, and cradled her to him, careful not to jostle her too much. A tear fell unnoticed down his face as he caressed her cheek, hoping that she would not remember this after the whole ordeal was over.

"You will be fine, my love, my Hermione, safe to return to –"

Footsteps raced in his direction. "Sirius, we've found a way to the Hall of Prophecy, we have to g –" Remus skidded to a stop, eyes wide at the sight of Sirius kneeling in ashes, cradling Hermione's limp form in his lap, a hand cupping her cheek and the other on her head. Sirius calmly kissed her forehead, gently lifted her slight form onto the ground, and stood up.

"Let's get those bastards."

Together, they ran to the Hall of Prophecy, Remus glancing back at Hermione then at Sirius in concern. Sirius smiled at his childhood friend.

"She was injured. I couldn't leave her there. She's safe now."

Remus nodded.

Sirius comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see her face after they dealt with these upstarts who dared harm his family. He would face Hell to avenge her, and would burn this place down if that was what it took to chase these bastards there.

She was safe, alive. Dumbledore had arrived. He had not failed. All of his memories of _her_ flashed through his mind as he slipped into darkness. He remembered the day she had smiled at him so brilliantly, like a sun. Her laughter as he flopped at her feet, the passion in her eyes, directed at him and him alone as she yelled at him. All for him. And before he knew no more, he remembered when he had seen Hermione happiest, the most painful yet precious memory of them all – the night he had made his promise to forget her, when he saw her standing in the library, in the glow of the fire, in the arms of Severus Snape.


End file.
